


Cash Cash, Kira Kira

by Shameless_Weeb_Lacking_A_Filter



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age of consent 18, Alternate Universe - No Kira, But it had to be underage or it wouldn't be edgy, Daddy Kink, Everybody wants the Yagami D, I mean it's like subtle porn that has a plot, I'm Not Ashamed, Light is 16, M/M, Mello using slurs as nicknames because he can, Non-Explicit Sex, OOC Matt cuz I have literally no clue who he is like what, OOC Mikami, Stripper!Light, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Uke!Light, Whore!Light, crackish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6543853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shameless_Weeb_Lacking_A_Filter/pseuds/Shameless_Weeb_Lacking_A_Filter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Yagami Raito is a stripper at the mercy of his own boredom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cash Cash, Kira Kira

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is the third time I've posted this. It's different now, I swear. No, really.

* * *

    Yagami Light, by this time, is a whore in every sense of the word. It had not always been this way, on the contrary, most of his time was spent in activities that differed greatly from what he was currently doing. But now, in the men's restroom with his legs locked firmly around the waist of some strange man he had met hours earlier, thrashing, bucking, it is decidedly difficult to picture the boy doing anything else. 

He does this often, sometimes several times a night (his stamina is impressive for a sixteen year old). Gender is of no consequence, but he has a rather unhealthy preference for older guys. Thirty to forty is probably his favorite, but he's not known to shy away from any interested parties. 

The boy's partner of choice for the evening (Aizawa was it?) is dominance personified, dressed in a smart pair of slacks with a tie loosened and dangling about his neck, polished shoes being lightly scuffed from the tile in the bathroom stall, dress shirt being only slightly wrinkled, never stained from their activities. 

To counter the man's clothed form, Light is completely naked, and he knows that his back will ache in the morning from where the man is pounding him against the stall door, making the thick plastic shake on its hinges with a tell-tale rattle. 

Aizawa's wedding ring, tarnished and ill-kept, glints gold under the weak fluorescent lighting, and Light feels a little thrill run through him. Married men are the  _best._ He vaguely wonders what the man's wife would do if she learned that her dutiful husband was fucking underage boys in strip club restrooms. He hopes that she would make a scene. 

Light's piercing, a silver barbell run through his right nipple, as well as his Prince Albert shine similarly, and he is quite proud of the curious stares that the jewelry garners from Aizawa. The man seems just as excited by the dick ring as Light himself is, and runs his thumb over the hoop with childlike wonder that differs dramatically from the tempo of his thrusts. 

Light's tattoo does not draw the same attention, the image of the black notebook over his heart ignored in favor of the piercings, but that's okay. Light's rather fond of it all the same. 

    In his day life, Light is never one to ask for anything (lest he be a burden), much less  _beg._ But now he does it because he knows that it's what Aizawa likes, and tonight is all about pleasing the customer. So he does exactly as Aizawa wants, and pleads with him _(faster, harder, Daddy, please),_ and Aizawa graciously repays his effort with a hickey the size of Russia high on Light's throat (difficult to hide, just the way Light likes them; he does love a challenge). Yes, tonight is all about the customer. Not that Light gets paid in money. 

No, Light gets paid in pure, raw adrenaline. And this man, Aizawa, in particular has certainly delivered. He might make a regular out of this one. 

Usually sex is, at best, mediocre. Light has never had much of a sex drive. And it isn't that this man is some sort of sex god that came down from the heavens (or perhaps up from Hell) to awaken Light's libido. No, it's more about the background, the story behind the man that gets Light excited. 

Long minutes spent flirting across the bar has rewarded the knowledge that Aizawa works with the police. That already is a chance to get caught at his little game, and that possibility sends shivers creeping up and down his spine, leaving him tingling with anticipation. 

Of course, he can't allow himself to get caught, but it's always a possibility. 

But that's not it with this man. Oh, no. Light had had a theory as soon as the man had introduced himself as Aizawa Shuuichi. He had been sure that his father had mentioned something about an Aizawa once. He asked the man himself, and was pleasantly rewarded. 

    "So what do you do?" Light had asked, tucking his chin into his palm and resting on his elbows, giving the man a coy smirk. 

"What do I do?" Aizawa winked mischievously. "Typically I do pretty young things like yourself."  _I'm just a bit younger than your usual conquests, I assure you._

Light allowed a red flush to creep up his neck, as though he hadn't heard something similar countless times before, as if he wasn't absolutely gagging for it from this maybe police officer that may or may not work with his father. He looked to the side, as if embarrassed, and answered with a playful smack to the man's hand. 

"T-That's not what I meant and you know it, silly!" Light scolded half-heartedly. "I  _meant_ , where do you work? What do you do  _for a living_. Perv."

Aizawa scoffed. "Perv, eh?" Light glared. 

"Fine, fine. I'm with the police," Theory one proven correct. "You know about Yagami Soichirou?" Theory two proven correct. It was gratifying to be so thoroughly right. 

If this man worked with his father, then he might go into work on Monday and brag about that awesome lay he'd had at Wammy's club on Friday, at least, Light  _hoped_ he'd brag. Bragging could result in new members in his clientele.

And God, did Light need more people to fuck. No one that he was currently involved with had any weird kinks or really, did anything besides plain intercourse. They were so boring, all of them. They were lucky they were well-hung. 

Maybe this Aizawa-That-Worked-With-His-Father would be more exciting.

"No, I don't think I've heard of him," Light lied easily in response (this whole side of his life was lies from the start), tapping a finger to his chin thoughtfully. 

"Oh, shame. He's a great man."

Light nodded solemnly. His father was a great man. Shame he had a disappointment like Light for a son. 

"Say, Kira-kun, what do you do for a living?" 

Pearly white teeth tugged at rosy lips as Light turned away, his embarrassment not entirely feigned. But his occupation was needed to fund his extravagant lifestyle (champagne and expensive lingerie didn't pay for themselves) and it  _was_ how he'd started out at Wammy's anyway.

"I work here."

"You tend the bar sometimes or something?" For a second, Light thought that perhaps Aizawa really was that dense.  _We're at a strip club. STRIP club. What do you think I do?_

But no, there was a hopeful gleam in his eyes, something suddenly defensive in his body language. Ah. He didn't like strippers. 

"Or something," Light said with a shrug, and downed the rest of his drink. This seemed good enough for Aizawa, because he paid for their drinks and dragged Light by the wrist to the restrooms, yanking him into a stall and slamming him against the door. 

Apparently Light was attractive enough to compensate for his questionable profession. 

    So Light likes Aizawa. Perhaps likes Aizawa even better when he leans in close and whispers in Light's ear, voice rough and breathless:

"Such a good boy, taking it so good for Daddy." 

The line itself is rather generic, used by anyone with a Daddy kink and a brain, but it's the way he says it, like it's some secret that Light's good at what he does; like it's something only recently discovered that needs to be hidden and coveted, that has Light arching his back and screaming as he comes-- some ragged variation of 'Aizawa', or perhaps 'Daddy'.

His ejaculate coats his stomach and the wall, and he's surprised at how much of the viscous fluid there is. He's been having lots of sex as of late-- he'd rather expected to have very little this time around. He hates being wrong, usually, but right now he's a tad too high to care.  

He's somewhat aware through his haze that Master Watari will scold him later for his volume ( _"It disturbs the customers, Kira-kun, to hear random people screeching through the door to the facilities. Do you care to know exactly how much urine I've had to mop up from where people were too scared to actually enter the restroom?"_ ) but he is also aware that he just came harder than he has in a long time, and that takes priority over any of the old man's threats. 

Aizawa is considerate enough to not thrust  _too_ hard into Light's over-sensitized hole. Light takes careful note of this, with no small amount of pride that he picked a good one this time. 

It takes very little from here for the older man to reach his pique, slamming Light into the door with a final and particularly vicious thrust before grunting out, voice gruff and low.

_"Kira,"_ he moans as his ejaculate fills the condom in white-hot spurts. Light can feel the heat through the rubber and he wishes that he could hold that warmth (and the slowly softening 7-inch cock) inside him for just a little longer. It's suddenly cold in this bathroom. 

    He still likes Aizawa all the better when he pulls out and peels off the used bit of latex, flinging it at Light's exposed and slumped back, spattering come all across his ass. He doesn't mind, he might even like it like this. He's had worse. 

He trails a delicate finger through the stuff and brings it to his lips, lapping the come off his own fingertips. He swallows, licking his lips. It's probably not good for him, and he'll probably contract some horrible disease, but it tastes good, if a bit thick and bitter, and he can't help himself on nights like these. 

That is to say, nights where he comes so hard that he forgets his name isn't actually "Kira" and that this club isn't actually his entire existence. 

    But he knows he likes Aizawa best when he nonchalantly straightens his own shirt and tucks himself back into his pants before walking out of the stall without so much as a 'goodbye', leaving Light used and abused and soiled on the cold tile ground, feeling deliciously humiliated and just the right amount of broken.

He can still feel Aizawa inside him, can still imagine the thud of their bodies slamming up against relentlessly against the stall door, can see it all behind his lids when he closes his eyes, and that is all he'd wanted.

That, and the satisfaction and instant gratification that club sex granted.

The older man splashes cold water on his face and attempts to fix his obvious sex hair. He leaves the bathroom, and Light is again alone.

Yes, he likes Aizawa best in this moment. 

    He gingerly replaces his t-shirt and tugs up his skinny jeans, not bothering to wipe the dried come off the wall. Someone else can do that later. He's never much liked the janitor anyway. 

    It's nearing Light's curfew, if his curfew can even be considered as such and not just a suggestion with the way his parents enforce it (which is rarely), and he knows he has to clean up before he goes home. 

So he goes to the staff room, grabs his duffel bag that he keeps in his locker, and starts walking. If he's lucky he'll make it to the gas station before it closes.

He walks a short while before turning into the driveway of his usual 7-Eleven, and he waves to the cashier as he makes his way to the restroom in the back. He could, theoretically, do this in the restroom at Wammy's club, but he doesn't like spending useless time there. 

He liked for any time spent at the strip club to be spent drinking, dancing, or fucking. And maybe the occasional smoke, if it had been a long day. 

The bathroom in the 7-Eleven is filthy, and Light refuses to go near the toilet. No, he stands by the sink and strips down, using a few wet paper towels to wipe the mess off his stomach and from his rear.

Pausing for a moment, he takes the time to enjoy the feeling of clean skin, reveling in the absence of semen and grime.

He stuffs the worn street clothes into his duffel bag, and pulls out his school uniform, creasing it and wrinkling it just enough so that it looks like he's been wearing it all day. 

His parents think he's been tutoring a kid in math on the other side of town, and he has no qualms about continuing this lie. 

    With a sigh, he looks at the mirror and notices that his eyeliner has smudged in the corners of his eyes. It's not necessarily unattractive, but it makes the makeup noticeable, and his father would surely question his only son wearing girl's cosmetics. 

He digs in his duffel for something, and comes out with a bottle of clear blue liquid and a ziploc of Q-tips. The stuff smells bad as Light sloshes it on to one of the cotton buds, but he imagines that anything called 'salicylic acid' can't be expected to smell like daisies. 

He takes the Q-tip and wipes the grime from his eyes, the kohl residue staining the cotton fibre black. It takes a few swipes across his lid, but he finally gets all of it off, and he can leave the restroom. 

Light wishes that he would've bummed a fag back at the club-- he can't afford to have his clothes smell like smoke now. Often he borrows a cig or two from Mello with promises of reimbursement, always when it's been a weird night.

And tonight had been a weird night, indeed. 

* * *

     Light wasn't always like this. Wasn't always a stripper and almost a prostitute. Didn't always smoke or drink. Didn't always whore himself out to middle-aged men and treat it like it was all a game. 

But he has always been bored.

Normal people's lives are, after all, obscenely dull. 

To Light it seems as though the pure unvaried monotony of civilian life ought to be more illegal than the things that he finds himself doing these days. 

But he is logical, and has not gone this far for the sole sake of boredom-- at least, that's what he tells himself. 

A number of other circumstances have contributed to this development, the fact that he was sleepwalking through his droll, humdrum existence just happens to be the largest of which.

     Perhaps it all began in freshman year of high school, when Amane Misa all but demanded that he be her boyfriend. 

What was he meant to say to that?

A no would be suspicious; Misa was attractive enough that, should he refuse, his father would give him the all-too-familiar speech about becoming "one of the gays". 

( _Gays._ The word was always spat with such disgust that Light knew he never wanted his father to think such things of him.) 

So he agreed, though after significant pause where with any other boy there would have been none, and that was that. 

His parents had been overjoyed that he had a girlfriend ("Oh Light! I knew it would happen sooner or later if you were patient! This is your reward!") though Light himself was less than thrilled.

It wasn't too bad, he'd supposed. 

It could be worse, he'd reasoned. 

And Misa had not been a bad girlfriend, by any means. She was beautiful, accommodating, and certainly willing. 

But her voice, her  _voice._  

So feminine and high-pitched, nearly squeaking. He  _craved_ for someone,  _anyone_ , to call his name with a deep, rumbling timbre rather than Misa's grating squeal. The fact that she referred to herself as "Misa-Misa", in the third person whenever her idiotic brain decided she ought to speak, helped no one, least of all Light. 

And the way she just assumed that he'd wanted her to press her lips to his (he hadn't), rubbing her cherry chapstick all over his mouth; parting his lips with her tongue and getting everything wet and repulsive and dreadfully, dreadfully cherry. 

Light hates cherry flavour. It tastes like cough medicine, and that taste is forever associated in his mind with illness and, now, with Amane Misa, his first (and only) girlfriend. 

    But most of all, he'd hated (still hates) how everything-- from his top scores in the To-Oh exam to dating Misa-- was expected of him. 

Anything less, and he'd fade from existence. 

He would matter little to his parents who had Sayu, a young woman now, to fawn and worry over. No, they didn't much need him. Not for anything other than perfection, that they could use for their benefit and brag about to their friends. 

Sayu envied him his perfection, the foolish girl. 

_Silly, foolish girl, don't you know that I'd give it gladly? Don't you know that I'm not as they say I am? Don't you know, that I am useless, that I have no personality other than who they want me to be?_

What use was he, other than an opportunity for pride? 

_Humans are so greedy._

But it was to be expected. And that's what infuriated Light so. That he was meant to shrug and say, "It can't be helped," and move along as though everything was okay, like it was somehow okay to be forced into a lifestyle he'd never wanted. 

He was expected to get a girlfriend, while still focusing on his studies, mind you, and date for several years on, being the perfect, textbook couple permanently in the honeymoon stage of life, never to tire. He'd propose after a while, over dinner in a nice restaurant perhaps, and they'd marry soon after. They'd produce enough offspring to make Sachiko happy, and then they'd grow old together and die.

Such was required of him, and such was to be performed. 

But he'd grown so  _bored._

That life had been revolting in its normalcy. 

Yagami Light is not ordinary, and it vexes him to no end to be mistaken as such. 

    Light was not always this way, and, if he's honest, he hates himself for being this way now. He resents what he's become, but he's careful not to let it show. But he needs this, he  _knows_ he needs this. So he lets himself become this wannabe seductress, someone who ought to leave a vile taste in his mouth; a bitter aftertaste to being used like this. 

No one of his station in life should have to do this. 

But, if he's honest, Light likes it this way, likes it so much that it's nauseating. He's ashamed of how much he means it when he begs for the men to take him, to fuck him into the couch, into the door, into the table. 

He hates how much he loves it. But it's not a strong enough hate to quit Wammy's. 

Because if he can't live up to everyone's expectations, then he might as well forget about his expectations for himself. 

And Light feels awful each time he thinks of what his father would say, not because he'd be disappointed in himself (his disappointment has already surpassed levels higher than Light thought possible, nothing will bring it down), but because he'd take such great pleasure in watching his father's eyes grow wide with shock and his mouth fall open in disbelief. 

He needs this side to life. He needs freedom to live as he pleases, without fear of being condemned. Other teenagers have the right to experiment like this with little consequence, and he needs that,  _craves_ it. 

And well, he's always been a 'go big or go home' kind of guy, anyway. 

Yagami Light is far from ordinary, and it vexes him to no end to be mistaken as such. 

But, if it means he can continue on with this life of champagne and expensive lingerie, he's willing to put up with it for a bit longer.

* * *

     He sits at rapt attention in the classroom, amazed at his classmates' idiocy. 

Honestly, he'd spent all of this weekend at the club, hadn't even studied, and he knows this information. 

Their lack of even this basic knowledge disgusts him. 

"Yagami-san!" The teacher barks, pulling Light from his thoughts of repulsion.

"Hai, sensai?" 

"This sentence in English, if you please." He indicates a basic phrase etched in chalk on the board. Light rises from his chair.

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for thou art with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me." The teacher nods approvingly, and he takes his seat again. 

The other students gape at his speed and his clarity. No matter. He'd mastered the language long ago.

Though he ought not to be so negative, so cynical, at his age, he can't help but scoff at the Bible verse transcribed on the chalkboard. It's far from the truth: to say that one does not fear death. Everyone fears death, even he.

He runs his index finger idly over the tattoo of the black notebook over the left side of his chest. The words "Death Note" are scrawled in a strange font across the cover, something he hadn't asked for, but likes anyway. He makes small, concentric circles, various sizes dotting their way across his chest. The shapes he makes are mildly soothing, and the tattoo seems to throb under his ministrations, but perhaps it is only in his mind.

    As he walks down the hall to his next class, he can hear some of the other students whispering "player", "lady killer", and he realizes he hasn't remembered to cover up the bruises on his neck from his spontaneous quickie with Aizawa yesterday. Of course, the more accurate term for Light would be "cock slut" but he isn't about to correct them. 

    The rest of the day passes without incident; an event of any kind would be much too exciting for his mundane life. He grows the usual mixture of excited and anxious for his performance in a few days. It'll be his headliner debut this Friday.  

It's one of those things where you can't decide whether you can't wait another moment, or if you'd happily wait another month. Light grows curious about his performance quickly, and the more he thinks, the more he finds to be either nervous or excited about. 

Will Mello accompany him onstage, as he always does? Or will his debut performance be a solo one? What song will Master Watari have him dance to? Will his pole work be as elaborate as he's been practicing for? What would Mikami have him wear? Would they dress him like a girl? That wouldn't be so bad. 

He hopes that he'll be allowed to retain the slutty persona he's built up in this past year or so. 

But perhaps Master Watari will want him to start being a bit classier. He supposes he wouldn't mind terribly. Classy would be hard to market, since everyone's already seen what's beneath the clothing. Although, according to his patrons, what's beneath the clothing would be worth the tease. 

He just wants to be allowed to keep his customers. This whole thing would be very nearly pointless without them. 

Still, even with all his fears and anxieties, he still finds himself unable to keep from fidgeting in his chair. He tries to hold it back, and he does, for the most part. But he can't keep his knee from bouncing a bit and from glancing at the clock (when did it start running so slowly?) every few minutes like he has somewhere to be other than here. 

If the teacher notices, he says nothing (of course not; to do so would be to alter this routine of monotony, they can't have that, the utter  _machines_ ). 

So Light sits calmly (on the surface, at least) in his chair, pretending to take diligent notes (as if he hasn't learned all this before) and waits for Friday to come and take him away from this horrid place where no one does anything, ever. 

It's one of few things he has to look forward to these days. 

* * *

     After four days of nothingness have gone by, it is finally Friday, and Yagami Light has never been more eager to get out of the school building.

"Raito-kun!"

Amane Misa seems to be unaware of this. What is wrong with her? Can't she see how quickly Light's moving towards the door? Doesn't she read people well enough to tell that Light's body language is screaming, "I WANT TO LEAVE"?

"Hai, Amane-san?"

"Don't call me that, silly Raito!" She flips a bit of her gold-blonde hair, twirling a bit around her finger as though she were trying to curl it. "It's _Misa-chan_."

He nods kindly, as if he'll actually care to remember such a trivial thing.

"Did you need something, Amane-" he catches himself. "I mean, Misa-chan?"

She giggles. The sound makes Light grind his teeth in frustration. _Why wouldn't she let him leave?_  

"Misa-Misa was wondering," she pauses to step even further into Light's personal space. The bell has long since rung. Light should be walking home. Misa should be walking home. This conversation should not exist.

"Misa-Misa was wondering if-- You don't have to or anything- Misa means, not unless you _want_ to," She fumbles a bit, grabbing Light's forearm, digging her black painted nails into his bicep. "Misa-Misa knows we didn't work out or anything, but Misa-Misa was wondering if you would go with her to the cinema tonight?"

_Tonight. You couldn't have asked any other night, any other week._  

Light's exhausted, and he has little time to pretend with this girl. 

"No." He says flatly, not even bothering to hide how  _done_ he is with her.

Misa's eyes, a shade lighter than Light's caramel, widen. She lets go of Light's arm, and backs away dejectedly. 

"Misa understands," she says glumly. Her lower lip wobbles and water collects in the corners of her eyes. 

Light leaves before she can start crying. He's never done well with tears.

* * *

    Light arrives at Wammy's Club several hours later, after he's gone home and greeted his family sufficiently. He told them he had to go tutor the same kid in math, and he wonders why they've not yet gotten suspicious. It has, after all, been nearly a year since he started "tutoring", and one would think that the kid would've learned by now.

But if his family doesn't question it, Light sure as Hell isn't going to. 

    As soon as Light walks through the door (a metal door off to the side of the building with the words 'staff only' written in peeling white paint), he's assaulted by a blur of blonde hair and black leather. 

"Hey," he murmurs into a bare shoulder. 

Mello makes a happy sound into Light's neck before pulling away from the embrace. More like shoves Light off, but Light isn't complaining. 

"I missed you, you fucking queer," Mello says, punching Light's shoulder playfully. "Where ya been?" 

Light snorts. "I've been at school. We can't all be dumb strippers like you, Mello-senpai." 

"I'm not dumb, you little shit."

"I disagree."

He slaps Light's bum, making the younger man yelp in surprise. 

"And to think that I've fucked the ass of such an impudent little brat!" Mello cries in mock exasperation, pressing a hand to his forehead as though he might swoon. 

"It was your choice, and fully consensual, Mello-senpai. I fail to see the issue." 

"Smart-ass."

"Dumb blonde." 

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"You wound me, Kira. I'm in great distress."

"Oh?" Light raises an auburn brow. "Now you're using big words?"

"I hate you, you huge ass queer."

"That's not what you were saying the other night," Light sing-songs, playing Mello's game. 

"Ugh, fine." Mello says, turning on the heel of his boot to leave. "Mikami's looking for you, you know." He calls over his shoulder. Light sighs. Of course Mikami was looking for him- he was headliner tonight, wasn't he? 

Mello wasn't really dumb, of course, but he failed to recall that Light wasn't either. 

    As it turns out, Light didn't need to find Mikami. Mikami found him. 

"Kira-kun!" 

Mikami, Light had discovered long ago, is not unlike a puppy, always needing reassurance and constant praise. 

"Hey, Mikami!" Said dark-haired man beams. 

"I've got your costume, Kira-kun! Isn't it so strange that you're the main feature now? It feels like you started yesterday, ne, Kira?"

"I know!" Light agrees, shooting Mikami a grin as he places the costume pieces in Light's arms. 

"I think Master Watari wants you to dance to that one song by Blood On The Dance Floor, that horrid American band. What was it called? Call Me Master? Nasty stuff, really."

"Thank you, Mikami." Light says, and he means it. He's glad to know ahead of time what attitude he should have onstage. 

Judging from the costume, Watari means for him to do BDSM with this performance, or something of the like. He wonders aloud what he's to do with the riding crop. 

"Oh, that!" Mikami giggles, shyly covering his mouth with his hand. He leans in to whisper to Light. "I think he's expecting some... audience participation, since you've got such a good energy with the customers, ne, Kira?" 

"Oh." Light looks down at the leather tool in his hand nervously. Could he really manage that?

Mikami chuckles at Light's expression, before leaning down to meet Light's face. All of a sudden, Mikami's mouth is covering Light's own. Then, just as quickly, it's over, and Mikami's looking down at Light, a smug smile playing at his lips. 

Light wants to smack it off.

"You'll do just fine, Kira-kun." 

The dark-haired man walks off, a slight sway to his hips. Light is not above shooting an appreciative glance at Mikami's ass. Yeah, he's hit that. As expected, Mikami had wanted to kiss too much. 

Light hates kissing. He doesn't  _make love._ He  _fucks_. Rough and brutal and nasty, and Teru doesn't like it that way. It's a shame, really. They might've been good together, once upon a time. 

* * *

    "Hey queer," Mello greets him when they meet up again backstage.

"Hello to you too, Mello-senpai." Mello scoffs.

"You don't get a hello, gaytard, not with what you're wearing." He gives Light a purposely unsubtle once-over.

"Is there a problem, Mello-senpai?" Light tries to make himself sound as innocent as possible. 

"Not only are you stealing my aesthetic, which I am  _not_ okay with, by the way, but you're also  _doing it wrong,_ " Mello hisses like an angry cat. 

"How so?"

"Have you seen yourself? You look like a fucking cheap hooker."

"I am a fucking cheap hooker."

"You don't get paid for it, so you're not a hooker."

    Light thinks he looks fine. Maybe a bit whorish, but Light's a bit whorish, so it works. He's got a pair of sheer black stockings with garters on with a pair of black Doc Martens over that. The remainder of his lower half is covered in little more than a lacy black thong. He's got a leather jacket on too, and he's pretty sure that all the black and the leather is giving Mello a right to be pissed. 

"Is anything else wrong, Mello-senpai?" He seems off, but maybe it's just Light's imagination. 

"I just... saw someone I didn't think I'd see again, and... it was really... weird. I'm not happy." 

Light hums in agreement, running a hand idly through Mello's blonde strands, half an attempt to soothe, and half just a desire to touch his hair. 

Mello bats his hand away. 

"Stop touching my hair, fucking faggot," Mello huffs, but Light can tell he means it in the best way. 

"No," Light says, but stops anyway. 

Mello peeks through the curtain into the crowd. Light notices he scowls when his eyes reach a certain man, who Light admittedly thinks looks a bit strange. But then he continues on, and his eyes land on Aizawa. 

"Ugh, been there, fucked that," he groans, sounding horribly put-upon. 

"Stop whining, Mello-senpai," Light chastises fondly. "You know he has a pornstar cock."

"Yeah, but he makes me call him 'Daddy'." He turns to Light with a smirk. "But I forgot, you like that, don't you, Kira-kun?"

"I like most things, Mello-senpai. In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of a slut."

Mello snorts. 

"Damn straight."

"I think you mean 'damn gay'."

"Cocky bastard."

"Whiny whore."

"Jerk."

"Bitch." 

     "It's almost time to go on, guys!" Mikami calls from the dressing rooms (where he's surely doing far more makeup and costuming than he's getting paid to do), ending their childish standoff. 

"You ready to go, Mello-senpai?"

Mello shoots him a wolfish grin. 

"Let's give 'em Hell!"

"If by 'Hell' you mean 'ass' then I whole-heartedly agree."

"Slut."

"Blonde."

"That's not an insult, you fucking auburn-haired slut."

"It is if I want it to be," Light argues, sticking his tongue out and crossing his arms. 

"Brat."

"Blondie."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

    Then they're walking out onto the darkened stage, the music starts playing, the spotlights go on...

"Introducing... Kira and Mello!" It's the first time Master Watari's announced him by name, and the rush it gives him is addictive. 

...Light's hips go absolutely  _liquid_ against the pole, against Mello's body when they meet in center stage, and he forgets how to do everything but dance. 

* * *

    "That was a pretty good one, Kira-kun," Mello says after, downing a bottle of water. 

_'Pretty good?'_ Light thinks as they watch the next performance from backstage. He'd thought he'd done better than 'pretty good'. Whatever. He pulls a pair of booty shorts up over his underwear. He doesn't really want random creepers feeling him up while he goes to find Aizawa. 

 "I hate you too, Mello-senpai," Light deadpans, already starting to walk out into the crowd. 

"You weren't saying that when you were SUCKING THIS DICK!" Mello calls after him, sounding more 15 than 25. 

Light snorts a laugh before wading through people in the audience to reach Aizawa. Maybe they could have a celebratory meet-up in the dressing rooms. He wonders if he'll like Light's thong. 

* * *

    "Daddy!" Light exclaims upon seeing Aizawa. He throws his arms around the man, smirking inwardly at Aizawa's friends' stares of shock. 

"Kira-kun," Aizawa purrs, slipping a hand down to cup Light's nearly entirely bare backside. 

"I can't stay long," Light says, feigning disappointment, walking his fingers up Aizawa's chest.

"It's OK, Kira-kun," Aizawa pulls Light's hand off of him and brings the delicate appendage to his mouth. He plants light butterfly kisses on each of Light's fingers. Light doesn't bother to fight the blush that threatens to rise to his cheeks, giggling as Aizawa takes one of Light's fingertips into his mouth, sucking gently. 

Light bites his lip as if stifling a moan, but really, this unusually soft treatment is exceedingly frustrating. Light likes it hard, and won't stand for this foreplay nonsense. 

Another man, this one standing at a slightly slouched posture behind Aizawa (the same man that Mello was glaring at, Light notes), meets Light's eyes as Light stares over Aizawa's shoulder.

He has nice hair, Light observes- dark and untamed. He likes it. Though he's admittedly concerned about the dark circles under the other's eyes. It mildly resembles a panda. Cute. 

The man's eyes burn holes through Light's own, quietly staring Light down, daring him to look away. 

Somehow Light can tell that the man can see right through him- that that calculating gaze knows Light's true feelings, knows anything and everything that Light's ever felt. 

How thrilling. 

    But Light does not focus on him, refuses to focus on him, even though his brain is screaming for him to hold the man's gaze and not let him win.

He drops the stare anyway, going to instead lick a long line up Aizawa's neck and remind him that he came for games of a different kind. The older man groans at the motion, and Light suckles gently at the pulse point, hoping that Aizawa will just  _take the damn hint_ and move this somewhere else. The slouching man's presence is unnerving. 

But he likes it. In a very weird way that he probably shouldn't like. 

"Let's take this to the dressing rooms, please, Daddy?" He murmurs into Aizawa's neck. 

"Oh yes,  _please,_ Daddy." The panda man deadpans, mocking Light in a way that few have dared to before.

Oh, Light likes this one. 

_This_ one is a challenge. This one has an attitude (Light likes the feisty ones- the ones like Mello that have  _sass_ ). 

Easy people are all well and good, but every now and then he likes to have to fight to get into someone's pants. And he doesn't mind fighting for this man- he possesses a sort of ethereal beauty that fascinates him, and is so obviously clever. Not only that, but he's barefoot, probably getting his feet sticky (from puddles of beverages on the floor that the janitor hasn't yet gotten, among other things- things that Light helped in putting there) and Light finds that incredibly strange.

Light likes strange. Strange is good. Strange is often hella  _kinky_ , and as far as Light's concerned, the kinkier the better. 

It's just a bonus that this one seems to piss off Mello, and  _god_ does Light love Mello when he's pissed off. 

He'll be coming back for him later, after he and Aizawa are done, that is. 

* * *

     He drags Aizawa by the wrist into the dressing rooms, darting past Mello (who gives Light a knowing smirk; Light just glares in response) and ultimately ending up in Mello's private dressing room. 

It's retaliation for last week when Light had caught Mello and that kid Matt in the communal changing area- right on top of Light's duffel bag. Mello had done it on purpose, the fucker. 

"Hnn,  _now_ , Daddy _please_ ," Light moans, bucking against Aizawa's leg like a dog, acting every bit the needy uke that Aizawa wants him to be. 

"Patience, kitten," Aizawa chuckles, running his hand up Light's leg in a way that Light finds sort of creepy. 

He forces Light to his knees, and from there Light knows exactly what to do. 

He unzips Aizawa's fly, pulling the man's cock out from the opening and licking his lips. 

"No underwear, Daddy?" Light giggles. " _Naughty_." 

To Light's amusement, the older man flushes up to his ears. "Y-Yes, well," he clears his throat. "Go on, then." 

"Anything for Daddy," Light purrs before doing what he came for.

* * *

     With a cigarette between his fingers and Aizawa's come on his tongue, Light saunters his way up to the bar, greeting the bartender with a small wave.

"Hey there, dollface," Matt says with a wink, cleaning out a used glass with a washrag. He gestures to the drinks menu sitting on the counter. "See anything you'd like, Kira-kun?"

Light looks the brunette bartender up and down. "I think I'd like you, Jeevas, but Mello-senpai might get mad at me." He takes a long drag of his smoke and smirks cockily. 

"I ain't exactly a beverage," Matt chuckles. He suddenly notices Light's cigarette. "Oi!" He shouts, reaching over the counter to smack the cig out of Light's mouth. "This is a no smoking area, sir!" 

"Didn't stop you," Light pouts childishly, looking sadly at the cigarette on the floor. He stubs it out with his toe, grinding the butt of it into the floor.

He glares at the cigarette in Matt's mouth jealously, as if the paper tube has done him a personal offense. 

"I'm a special case, baby," Matt says with a huff of laughter. "Now how about that dri-" He stops suddenly, eyes wide, mouth agape. Then his mouth snaps shut and goes into a toothy grin.

"Ryuzaki, never thought I'd see the day when you came to a place like this!"

"My work team forced me to come here. Said it would help me 'relax'. Shows how little they know me." 

Light turns to see the panda man from earlier. So he is Ryuzaki. An alias, obviously. No one in Kanto has a name like that, and with the familiarity with which Matt addressed him, he has to be from around here. What did he have to hide?

Even the way Ryuzaki is sitting seems mysterious. His knees are tucked up into his chest, toes curled around the edge of stool.

"How about something to drink, Ryuzaki? That might help." He looks at the peculiar way Ryuzaki is sitting and frowns. "And for God's sake, sit normally, would you? You don't have to have a better reasoning ability here." With that, he turns to take the order of another customer and starts to actually work.

Light wonders what 'reasoning ability' refers to. No matter, Ryuzaki's straightened his legs out and is sitting normally on the stool, leaving his lap wide open for public use.

With a fluid, practiced motion, Light slides easily into the other man's lap, wrapping his arms around Ryuzaki's neck and positioning his rear directly over the man's crotch. RYuzaki's dark eyes widen, but he makes no attempt to push Light off. 

_Winning._  

He doesn't know why the word is the first thing to pop into his mind. He just knows that it's true.

    Matt turns again to them and facepalms. 

"Geez, Kira-kun, can't you turn it off for a millisecond? Every time I bring a man over you're all over him! What about that Aizawa fellow? Weren't you doing something with him?"

He licks his lips at the memory.

"Of course I was. But I'm not anymore, am I? Oh, and Matt," He turns his head back to face the brunette. "He and I got you and Mello back for that one time you guys did it on my bag, just to give you fair warning."

Matt glares. "You already got us back when you blew Mikami behind the bar." 

Light grins. "That was punishment for  _you._ Mello hasn't gotten his yet. Well, now he has." 

Matt presses a hand to his forehead. "Lord, give me patience. What Mello saw in you I'll never know."

Light pops off Ryuzaki's lap instantly. He can't have his pride as a slut insulted like this! 

"I can show you  _exactly_ what he sees in me, Jeevas, if you'll only let me," he purrs, running a hand down Matt's face wantonly.

"Cock-slut," Matt huffs, pulling away.

"Smoker."

"You smoke too!"

"Irrelevant."

"It's perfectly relevant."

"Liar."

"Whore."

"And proud!" 

He slides right back into Ryuzaki's lap, and he doesn't even look surprised. He rolls his hips over Ryuzaki's subtly, and is pleased to see that the ravenette is remarkably well-endowed. 

Without warning, Light slots his mouth against Ryuzaki's, and almost instantly, the man's lips are moving against his. It's the first time Light has initiated a kiss in the last two years, and Light's surprised to see how willingly Ryuzaki's reciprocating. 

It's gentle, the kiss, and Ryuzaki's arms wrap around Light's waist to pull him closer. 

It's electric, the press of their lips and the press of their bodies. It steals Light's breath away.

"Kira," he gasps out once they break apart. He gives Ryuzaki a shy smile. "My name is Kira."

"I know." He chuckles. "Your reputation precedes you. I'm Ryuzaki."

"So I've heard. Can I call you Ryu-chan?"

Ryuzaki looks prepared to disagree, but nods anyway, evidently wanting to please Light. 

"I suppose you could."

"Great!" Light beams. Of course, his reaction is exaggerated, but Ryuzaki can see past the mask anyway, so it matters little. "Shall we take this somewhere more private?"

Ryuzaki nods. "We shall."

* * *

                                                                                    **~ Elsewhere in the Club ~**

    "Holy shit... Is that Chief Yagami's son?" Matsuda asks Mogi, gesturing to a boy with auburn hair that's wearing basically nothing. He'd known it was a mistake to take the Task Force to Wammy's Club tonight. They'd just had a headliner, and nights were always crazy when they introduced one of those. 

Mogi's eyes bug out as he follows Matsuda's line of sight. "Nah, Light's an honor student, right? He's a real good kid- he's not the type for places like these."

Aizawa shakes his head firmly. "That'd be weird. Besides, this guy's name is Kira. And plus, Yagami's son is like seventeen. Kira's twenty-three." He takes a determined gulp of his beer. "And a fucking  _fantastic_ lay."

Mogi snorts at his coworker's antics. 

The auburn haired boy- man?-'s hair is tousled, and he's headed straight for Aizawa. He stretches languidly, flashing the men a strip of bare stomach. The sight is tempting, even for the married men. 

Aizawa can't help but notice that Kira's shorts are unbuttoned, but not unzipped, as if they were done up in a hurry, and he's changed into a white wife beater since he last saw him. 

"Hey there, big boy," Kira purrs, rubbing his hands over Aizawa's bicep. "I've been a  _very_ bad man. I'm sleeping around. I just had sex with someone else. Don't you want to  _punish me,_ Daddy?"

"We just went, Kira-kun. I'm older than you, you'll have to give me a moment," Aizawa chuckles, waving the man off lightly.

Kira pouts, crossing his arms in a huff.

"But  _Daddy_ , don't you want to claim me? I've been so very  _naughty-_ " He pauses, looking over Aizawa's shoulder and meeting eyes with Matsuda. He blinks once. Twice. 

"M-Matsuda-san?"

Matsuda nearly chokes on his beer. 

"Raito?!" 

Light rubs the back of his head nervously. "Um, I suppose it's a bit late for, 'this isn't what it looks like', yeah?"

"Oh  _perhaps_ ," Mogi spits sarcastically, eyes bulging in disbelief. 

    Just then, a pair of pale arms snake across Light's waist, and he's pulled flush against a slightly slumped body clad in a white shirt and jeans. 

"Hey there, Ryuzaki-chan," Light coos, moving his hands back behind him to pull L closer. 

The other men are standing there dumbfounded. Before anyone can work up the courage to intervene, L and Light seem to forget themselves and kiss softly, Light turning his head to meet L's, L's hand cupping Light's cheek.

"Ryu-chan!" Light gasps once they pull away. He gestures vaguely to the rest of the task force, evidently scandalised. "We have company!" He shakes his head with a fond but exasperated expression, as if this is a regular occurrence.

That alone is relatively unnerving. 

"I apologize. My new friend is terribly impolite." L rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the remainder of the Task Force. The usually pale man flushes a deep red. 

"Kira-kun," L says, voice soft but firm, interrupting Light's apology. "I believe that I've met these people before."

That startles everyone's vocal chords back into use. 

"L?!" Matsuda exclaims before anyone can quiet him, already diving off into a rant about irresponsibility and pedophilia. "How dare you take advantage of Raito like that?! He's only seventeen, you know! Chief Yagami will never forgive you for raping his son, you sick,  _twisted_ individual. And furthermore-" Aizawa's hand claps over Matsuda's mouth, shutting him up briefly. 

"I won't tell if you won't tell," he says simply, shooting Light a wink and walking away, dragging Mogi and Matsuda along with him.

    Light breathes a sigh of relief. He really didn't want to have to explain this whole situation to his father, aroused as the thought of being discovered makes him. But then he remembers L, who is staring at him with wide onyx eyes. 

Something seems to click in each of their brains. 

"You're L?" Light exclaims, wrigglng out of L's arms to get a better look at the apparent detective. His eyes scan L's figure as if he is seeing him for the first time, which, in a way, he is. 

"And  _you're_ Yagami's son?" L raises a black eyebrow artfully. 

In perfect unison, they shout, "Of course I am!" Then, "Why didn't you deduce it sooner?" 

"Is Raito-kun really seventeen?"

"Of course not," Light scoffs. "Why would I be seventeen?" L looks like he believes him, but Light would wager he doesn't. 

Regardless, the other man shrugs and lets the question go, preferring to pull Light close again and sway with the music. 

"Hey, Raito-kun?" L asks tentatively. It sounds so shy that Light can't help but plant a kiss on the detective's cheek.

"Hai, Ryuzaki-chan?" L can call him by his name, but Light figures it's safer to stick to L's alias for now.

"Do you think we could do this again sometime?" He looks down at his bare feet skeptically. "Though perhaps not here... I think I'd prefer a nice pastry shop..."

Light finds himself nodding rapidly into L's chest, no matter that he's just met the man and that he finds dates to be pointless and mundane. L is a mass of contradictions, always proving Light's assumptions wrong in one way or another. 

L gifts him with a rare smile, one that Light hasn't seen all night and that seems genuine (though who knows how good L is at acting). 

Light would never do this normally. 

But it seems like L is his exception. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love you all~ This is also posted with slightly different wording and slightly different formatting on FF.net under the same title, with the pseudonym "AkatsukiLover465", so if you want to check me out over there, go ahead! :) Thanks again!


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